


Do Not Disturb

by queeniegalore



Series: Safeword Verse [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What can I give you to make you stop talking?" Brad asked, looking sadly at his bottle of beer. "Seriously, Ray, name it."</p><p>Starts out Ray/Walt and ends up Brad/Ray/Walt. High on the bondage and spanking, etc. Originally commentfic, but they get longer as they go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Disturb

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, not true, no disrespect intended

"What can I give you to make you stop talking?" Brad asked, looking sadly at his bottle of beer. "Seriously, Ray, name it."  
  
Ray shrugged. "You _asked_ , dude," he said, sitting sideways on the couch to face Brad. "I was just expanding on the requested intel."  
  
Brad shook his head. "I only wanted to know why Hasser came to work covered in bruises. I thought you'd gotten into a fight or...fuck. No, I wasn't thinking." He took a deep swig of beer while Ray looked on patiently. "That's our whole problem here, in fact," Brad went on, setting his empty bottle on the coffee table with a clink. "Too much talking, not enough thinking."  
  
Ray waited to see if he'd finished his bitchy little freak out, then started up again. "Okay, so, whatever, Iceman, where was I?"  
  
"Aww, fuck."  
  
"That's right, I'd just tied him to my bed with my web belt, and-"  
  
"Well that explains his wrists." Brad sighed. "Jesus Christ, Ray, you can't send him to work like that."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Dude, he's a Recon Marine. When _isn't_ he covered in bruises?"  
  
"When he's not involved in perverted gay sex practices with a depraved freak like you?" Brad suggested, and went into the kitchen for more beer.

"Yo, it was his idea," Ray called after him with a grin. " _I'm_ normally nice as pie." He remembered something, and pointed a finger at Brad. "Besides, don't you fuckin' judge. I know all about that Australian dominatrix, okay, you don't have a leg to stand on with the judging."

"She's a paid professional," Brad protested weakly, sitting back down with two more bottles. " _Anyway_. Does this little story have a point or not?"  
  
Ray knew he was going red, also knew that he'd never have opened this mouth this bad without all the beer, but he soldiered on. No turning back now.  
  
"Yeah. I need some advice."  
  
Brad coughed.  
  
"No marking his face," he said, staring straight ahead. "Let him have a go every now and then. Make sure you both know when it doesn't feel good anymore, and for fuck's sake, know when to stop." he rubbed his forehead. "That's all I got. You need anything else and I'm just gonna get you a copy of

Seventeen

and leave you on your own."  
  
Ray bit his lip. "Duly noted," he said. "Uh, seriously. But I had something more specific in mind."  
  
Brad held up a hand for Ray to stop, cracked his new bottle of beer open, took a swig, and then motioned for him to go on.

"Okay. So, if you ever - _ever_ \- tell Walt that I told you this, I will _never_ speak to you again," Ray started.  
  
"What a stunning proposition," Brad broke in dreamily.  
  
"Brad."  
  
"Okay, okay, go on. What's up?"  
  
Ray took a deep breath. "So I tied him up, and look, the internet told me that if I wanna tie my boyfriend to the bed and beat his ass with a belt I should make him pick a safeword first."

 

Brad nodded. "Good to know you've got _some_ fucking common sense at least."  
  
"Yeah?" Ray was struck with a thought. "Do you have one too? Yeah, I bet Mistress Boomerang or whatever her name is makes you pick on. What is it?"  
  
Brad coloured. "Is this relevant?"

 

Ray smirked at him. "Is it 'carpet rake' Brad? Is that your safe place?"

 

Brad looked at him. "Wow, this _is_ serious. Look at you lamely stalling, you don't wanna spit it out."

  
Ray shifted uncomfortably. "Mmm. It's kind of..." he trailed off and shrugged. "Fuck."

 

"Come on, Ray, you've gotten this far," Brad insisted, his voice surprisingly gentle. "After this conversation I'm writing 'do not disturb' on a post-it note and sticking it to my forehead to see if that works, but I'm fucking committed now. Lay it on me. What the fuck did you do?"

 

"It's not what _I_ did," Ray said glumly. "Walt's safeword was, uh..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "It was you."

  
Brad frowned. "What?"  
  
"It was your name. Brad."  
  
Brad's face cleared. "Okay," he said, and drained half his bottle in one go before pausing, thinking about it, and draining the other half. "Okay."  
  
Ray nodded. "Yep."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Brad's cheeks had gone pink. If Ray wasn't equal parts confused, embarrassed and drunk, he'd think it was kinda cute. "So what the fuck does that mean."  
  
"It might not mean anything," Brad said hopefully. "It might have just been the first thing that popped into his head."  
  
Ray raised an eyebrow. "I am somehow not comforted by the idea that you're at the top of my boyfriend's mind when he's in bed with me," he said sourly. "Weird, right?"  
  
"Ah." Brad seemed briefly lost for words.  
  
They sat there in silence for a moment, Ray drinking his beer and trying to figure out how to unfuck the situation.  
  
But the fact was, it had bothered him a little (and turned him the fuck on a little, too, which bothered him even more), and Brad was his best friend. He went to Brad for advice on everything, from the first time he'd had his heart broken, to the time he'd gotten that weird rash. He trusted him.  
  
"Brad, seriously. Is this fucked up or am I overreacting?"  
  
Brad seemed to think about it. "Well, did it piss you off? At the time?"  
  
"Little bit, dude."  
  
Brad smirked. "So let me get this straight. Walt gets you to tie him up, then pisses you off right when you're about to get down to business? You think maybe it was deliberate?"  
  
Ray's face went hot as he remembered what he'd done to Walt that night, remembered how much Walt had fucking loved it. Brad maybe had a point...but he wasn't ready to stop feeling freaked out, yet.  
  
"Yeah, and maybe he's secretly in love with you and wants _you_ to be the one banging him through the floor," he said ridiculously. Brad snorted.  
  
"Well, obviously," he said. "It's me. Every straight woman and gay man in California wants to fuck me, right?" Ray just looked at him. Brad looked away, cheeks even pinker. "Well, there I go again, talking without thinking. In fact, this conversation could use about 100% less talking."  
  
"And 100% more beer," Ray added. Brad shook his head.  
  
"Get the vodka from the freezer," he instructed. "If we're gonna be all gay and share our inner-most secrets and shit, we should at least be drinking hard liquor."  
  
"Aye aye," Ray muttered, and then they were downing two shots each and everything was somehow a lot easier to deal with.  
  
"You'd tell me," Ray said, words slurring a little as he slumped back against the couch. "You'd tell me if Walt got wood while you two were sparring. Right? You'd better fucking tell me."  
  
Brad laughed at him. "You're such a retard. I mean, I love you man, but fuck. This is just pathetic levels of idiocy right here."  
  
"What?" Ray said belligerently. "Fuck off."  
  
"I'll deny saying this when I'm sober and have managed to relocate my balls," Brad said. "But the fact is that whatever goes on in your kinky little sex games which I never want to hear about ever again, it is painfully obvious that Walt is stupid in love with you." He punched Ray on the shoulder. "Stupid being the operative word, clearly."  
  
Ray smiled. Brad's insults meant he cared. "Thanks, dude," he said sincerely. "Means a lot. I promise I'll never bring you into my hardcore BDSM gay ass-reaming again."  
  
"You're a pal," Brad deadpanned. "And I promise that next time I use Walt to demonstrate advanced restraint techniques to the platoon I'll get Lilley to film it for you."  
  
Ray lit up. "See! You've got my Christmas present sorted. Aren't you glad we had this conversation after all?"  
  
"So glad I could just about puke," Brad said. He poured them out some more vodka, frowning. "I'm gonna regret asking this."  
  
"The answer is probably often and with gusto," Ray said cheerfully. Brad passed him a shot.  
  
"I am finding myself morbidly curious... Did you make him say it?"  
  
"Your name?"

 

"Yeah." Brad was intently studying the table. Ray grinned to himself, knocked their knees together.

 

"Nah, bro," he said. "Not _yet_."


End file.
